


castle of snow

by crownuponherhead



Series: jonsa historical event [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 02:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownuponherhead/pseuds/crownuponherhead
Summary: in the late 15th century a new pope rises to power and so do all his bastard children turned papal counts and countess.a short little italian renaissance au for the jonsa historical event.





	castle of snow

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been in such a funk for writing?????? but i am working very slowly on updates for all my stories as well as writing stuff for this event. also i haven't seen the borgia(s) but like it's like that minus the borgias and incest?? (all tho the incest would fit)
> 
> the rundown of people mentioned/not mentioned:
> 
> the starks are alive and ruling the not yet the uk but like england and it's places. the aegon is probs somewhere i forgot about him tbh. rhaegar is pope. elia still here and just being the best she's only. lyanna died tragically but isn't directly related to the starks like distant like two generations back. the baratheon's are the holy roman emperor's bc like they don't seem frenchy to me. dany is like mentioned but not by name and like just living a spinster life tbh drogo and her son are dead already. and that's what u missed on glee. pls enjoy i know it's short with v little intro.

The air here is stiff and humid. It’s left her aching for the cold winters of the north to completely take her again. As she fanned herself lightly sitting in the garden across from her husband’s sister, she shifted a bit. She had a love hate relationship with the fashion of Italy. There were times she felt as if she was a sinner just getting dressed, maybe she was a sinner she’d married the bastard of the pope. It certainly did not help considering her current condition, her breasts seemed to be wanting to burst out of the bodice of her gown, not that her husband complained about it in the least. Placing her hand on top of her protruding stomach she sighed trying to relax in the thick heat. Of course she’d be cursed to spend her first summer in Rome pregnant and dying of heat stroke. 

 

“Have you discussed which ancestor you’ll name your sweet boy after?”  Rhaenys questions, it does not feel like she is questioning though. As kind as the blonde is, Sansa know better than to trust her wholeheartedly. She’d heard the word bastard slip out of her pink rouge lips. As much as it infuriated her that her husband’s own kin would say it, a little voice in the back of her head constantly reminded her that all of His Holiness’ children were bastard’s to the world,  even is Elia had been there from the beginning.    
  
“We have,” Sansa let’s out before delicately popping a grape into her mouth. “My dear husband wishes to keep it a secret until our child is here though.” It would be a northern name, that was for certain. Jon and her had both discussed it early in the pregnancy as they travelled from her father’s court back south. With Jon having be fostered at her father’s court, a dear cousin of his mother, and his siblings being fostered in the south at her maternal grandfather’s court it was no question in either of their eyes what names their children would have. They would be northern children even if they were raised in the heat of the south. 

 

Rhaenys did not look pleased with her answer though, no doubt she’d been asked to question and find out how southern they would raise their children. “Well, I can not wait for the surprise when my nephew decides to make its appearance.” She watched then as the blonde excused herself to get ready for the feast that night. Rhaenys was a beauty, what every man of the south wished for. Her long blonde hair always half braided back and decorated with ribbons and pearls. She was the prize for most of southern Europe despite the bastard status hanging over her head. Then again, Rhaegar certainly fixed that by adding a papal count or countess to all his children’s titles. Once when Rhaenys was far too distracted from her fourth cup of wine, she’d had the courage to ask why she denied every proposal that’d been sent. The look of ambition in those trademark purple eyes almost scared her when she answered,  _ “I’m waiting for places as rich as Florence, if not a King, Emperor, or Prince.”   _ It was from then Sansa could truly see who her brother’s sister was. A few times, she thought that maybe she’d fit well with Joffrey. The dark side of her reminded her the only thing that would be a good fit for Joffrey was the effigy she prayed they were building everyday. 

 

“She did not look happy.” Turning her head at the sound of her husband’s voice she let a grin cross her lips. 

 

“I don’t believe she was. You know they’re desperate to tie you to Rome instead of England, especially since the rumors swirled that father wanted to grant you a dukedom. Must be why His Holiness was so desperate to grant you Bologna.” Sansa let out a content sigh as he placed his hands on her stomach. 

 

“Aye, He know how much I loathe it here and that his title is father now, he found a way around me as addressing him by lord instead of father. The only good part about it here is how much of you I can see in your silk gowns.” Running her hand from his hair to his cheek she offered  a soft smile. Before he offered his arm to her to return towards the home. 

 

“What do you think his reaction will be when you announce either Eddard Targaryen of Bologna, Papal Count or Lyanna Targaryen of Bologna, Papal Countess?” She placed her hand on her stomach smiling down at it. 

 

“I will not care what he does, my love. For we will be our own small family then, our own little legacy of northern children raised in the south. Like House Hauteville again, he should be thankful that we even go by Targaryen.”

 

“And what else would we be, love? Not even my father could embarrass the Pope so much to make us Stark’s.” 

 

“Aye, we would be Snow’s instead,” Jon turned to look over at her pressing his lips to the side of her head. He knew that she’d have to go get ready and assist his sister in getting ready as soon as they reached the house. He despised how she must again help his sister dazzle herself for the crowds to find a groom. Especially when his wife was reaching the point she should rest on her nights before their child was born.  Moving to wrap his arms around her, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, rubbing light circles on her stomach. He couldn’t sing enough praises of thanks for his wife. A strong, gorgeous woman, he praised that she’d escape the clutches of Joffrey, that he’d broken the contract of their betrothal. That she’d repeatedly turned down the men of the Kingdom back home. The only time he’d asked his father anything was that letter and offer of marriage even if it had to say Jaehaerys on it. Spending a few moments just desperate to not let her go let he sighed. “If you get too tired or she gets to ridiculous, just return to our apartments, I don’t want you to fretting over another most likely failed attempt of father’s to marry her off.”

 

Sansa offered him a comforting smile just embracing the feel of his arms around her. “Do not worry, my love. Elia should keep her calm and your Aunt should be the one running around the most to help her. They’re too similar. I’ll see you a bit before the feast. They say they have a gown for me, but something tells me it will not fit around our child.” Pressing her lips to his she turned around, letting her long auburn locks fly a bit. It was something she’d never get used to. The heat, the gowns, the fact that her hair did not need to be covered. The easiest thing to get use to was the love, her husband, her child, their future, and if their home would become known as Castello di Neve? She would never complain. 


End file.
